i'm yours to keep
by symphonies of you
Summary: "She was Lily Evans, she was untouchable. She was beautiful, she was perfect. She was smart, she was fascinating. She was too good for him, and yet he was undeniably attracted to her." jameslily-for vicky. Two-shot.


**Hey, I'm back again with a jameslily. Please don't kill me for its horridness because this is my first attempt at a jameslily in over two years. Apologising in advance...**

**For Vicky, happy belated birthday and I'm sorry for finishing this so late. I love you, babe.**

**Song: Fall for you-Secondhand Serenade.**

**DISCLAIMER: Don't own. JKR does. :)**

* * *

.

_because tonight will be the night that I will fall for you_

_over again, don't make me change my mind_

.

Witches and wizards of different ages are bustling about the platform, exchanging hellos and goodbyes with each other. Students mill around with cages obtaining their animals as they lug their trunks onto the train and eagerly compare eventful summers. It is a very busy day on September 1st, 1976. The corners of his lips lift into a grin when he notes the lovely redhead that he has unfalteringly fancied for five years. She has her back turned towards him as she is saying farewell to her mum before they board the Hogwarts Express for their sixth year. Leisurely making his way toward her in what he assumes was a stride that oozed confidence and "James," he creeps up behind her oblivious willowy figure.

"Hey love," he whispers, his lips barely brushing her earlobe as he leans over her exposed neck.

He smirks when he sees her shiver for a tiny fraction of a second; does he have the same effect on her that she always had on him? He hopes he does. The glorious smile (which never fails to make his mouth run inexplicably dry) that she was previously sharing with her mum a few moments ago quickly morphs into an irritated scowl.

And call him love drunk, but her anger makes him fall for her even harder.

"Do you _really _have to show up while I am talking to my mum?" she fiercely snaps.

His hazel eyes widen in mock surprise. "Really, I had no clue this charming woman was your mother. Hello, my name is James Potter. Charmed to meet you," he replies, directing an easy, friendly smile that he reserves for adults toward Lily's mum.

Her mum beams back at him. "It's lovely to meet you, dear. I'm Lily's mum. Please call me Rose. Are you, by chance, my daughter's beau?" she exclaims.

His life would be much more exciting if it were true. He is about to say yes when Lily cut in, "Absolutely _not_, Mum! You know who this is. It's P—"

"As much as I love your daughter, I am most regretful to divulge to you that she has not permitted me to court her at the moment," he suavely counters, earning an incredulous, indignant look from Lily.

She is about to deny any relation to him of any sort when a shrill, high-pitched warning issued by the train whistle pierces the air and reverberates throughout the platform. Her mum delivers a final declaration of love to her redheaded daughter as they clamber onto the train for another magical year full of new things to come. He waves at Lily's mum, who delightedly waves back. James's ears picked up on an obvious noise of annoyance behind him, which he decides to ignore.

Shoving past students in the corridors, he searches for the remainder of the Marauders, his best friends. Forgetting that Lily is behind him, he indiscernibly jumps when a light tap grazes on his shoulder and burns through his shirt sleeve. A cocky grin that is dangerously lopsided materialises onto his face when he swivels around and discovers his Lily looking incredibly furious.

"Hey love, care to share an empty compartment with me? I had missed your perfection every day of this languid, unproductive summer," he cheekily offers.

She takes a deep breath, wondering why Potter has chosen _her _of all people to drive insane for these past five years. "Potter, I'd rather share an empty compartment with a Blast-Ended Skrewt. What I wanted to say was—"

"That you missed me too and have been waiting to snog me since summer began?" he answers in a hopeful tone. A love-sodden fool can hope, right?

Her bright emerald eyes flashes with uncontained rage, and yet he somehow keeps that silly smile on his face. The light brown woollen hat sitting atop her dark red curls is off-centre, and he wants so badly to reach over and adjust the placement of her hat. And to touch one of her red curls. Are they really as soft as they looked? She looks absolutely enchanting in his eyes, in this moment. Well, until she unleashes the uncontrollable whirlwind of thoughts spinning through her mind, that is. That is when she got rather cross and terrifying, in his opinion.

"How _dare_ you suggest that I would do such an atrocious thing! I'd rather kiss a _Slytherin_. And Merlin, Potter. Could you at least let me finishwhat I was going to say? I was going to tell you that what you did outside was absolutely despicable and plain _horrid_. It was horribly embarrassing, and I just _know _that Mum's going to bother me about it. And did your mother ever teach you that it is rude to barge in on conversations that don't involve you in any remote aspect?" she rages.

"You'd rather kiss a _Slytherin_?" he explodes, clearly horrified at the very thought that a girl, especially _his Lily_, would rather kiss a slimy git that belonged in Azkaban rather than the dashing, flawless James Potter.

"It's a possibility," she snaps, annoyed by the fact that Potter doesn't deem the rest of her rant worthy enough to be plied with attention.

It really is a miracle that he isn't in a very foul mood from her mention of snogging Slytherins yet. The heat, the passion, the chemistry between them lingers in the air, practically palpable at this point.

"Honestly, I was just teasing you Evans. Can't you take a joke?" he responds, lying between his teeth. His hopes are tragically dashed; he doesn't know if he will ever get her to fall for him like he did for her as a first year.

She narrows her eyes and doesn't say a word. For a few moments, they stare at each other. Eyes of hazel meet startling emerald as they engage in a nonverbal debate. He stares into those eyes, those captivating eyes framed with long eyelashes that hid the unrevealed depths of her emotions. Were they both wrong?

"No, I can't. Not when it concerns you," she finally answers.

She stalks off with a dramatic air, leaving James standing alone and wondering if he had unintentionally hurt her over these five years.

.

_i may have failed_

_but I have loved you from the start_

.

He knows that his Lily is still upset over Snivellus's unexpected—well, unexpected for _her _as he already knew it would happen one day—betrayal. The raw hurt and pain and emotion so clearly expressed on her face, twisting it with shock and grief…the jaw dropping sight was entirely too heartbreaking for him to watch. Yet the vivid, unwanted memory of the unshed tears in her wide eyes latches itself onto his mind, imprinting itself in his ash pile of memories forever like a stubborn leech that daren't let go. And he also knows that his Lily was still incredibly irate about the way he had handled the situation, he knows that he shouldn't have taunted Snivellus that day. But he couldn't help it. He's always been extremely protective of the ones he loves, and he brashly charges into turbulent situations without thinking. Plus, James had been harbouring a secret-not-so-secret jealousy of Lily and Snivellus's friendship, though the relationship was rather strained to frayed threads unfurling from a fine, thin line toward its bitter end.

And now it is over.

And he doesn't have the heart to bully Snivellus any longer, he realises with a jolt of shock. Sure, Snivellus has a large, hooked nose and greasy hair that isn't exactly flattering, but it isn't his fault that his unfortunate looks are hereditary. James feels rather lucky that he has inherited his good looks from his dad and mum. But really, Snivellus should take note and shower more often.

Is he really an arrogant, bullying toerag like Lily had suggested that fateful day?

For four years, he loved Lily not for her but for the thought of winning her. He was in love with the idea of winning her, winning her like a prize at a fair. She was Lily Evans, she was untouchable. She was beautiful, she was perfect. She was smart, she was fascinating. She was too good for him, and yet he was undeniably attracted to her.

But it was only last year when he finally noticed things, things about her that one truly in love with Lily Evans would notice about her. He noticed the inconspicuous dimple that slightly forms in her right cheek when smiling widely, lighting the Great Hall up in the dreary mornings. He noticed the way she involuntarily bites her bottom lip, the way she idly chews on the end of her quill when contemplating a difficult question on an unexpected exam. He noticed the way she walks with an unconcealed bounce in her stride when she's bubbling with exhilaration, the way she walks with a determined posture when infuriated at someone (namely James himself), the way she walks with a defeated air when she's got dark, gloomy clouds metaphorically encircling her mind. He noticed the way her nose almost imperceptibly wrinkles when she's laughing at a joke that makes her laugh for ages.

And it makes him stare at her, wishing he could make her laugh like that.

He carefully examines his shirtless self in the mirror before him. The sight of black spikes of hair that extends in every direction possible, sleepy hazel eyes that are usually brimming with mischief and glee, wire-rimmed glasses perched atop his prominent nose that isn't too hideously long, ropy arms resulting from years of Quidditch, and a generally toned body greets him at eight in the morning. He _is_ pretty damn good looking, in his opinion. Sometimes he doesn't understand how Lily can resist his obvious good looks and charm.

_Lily_.

Somehow, his thoughts always revert back to her. She is a constant fixture in the back of his mind. Why can't he go a single day without thinking about her?

Thank Merlin that he doesn't have class today or else he would've been late by now.

He sighs. Exiting the bathroom connected to the fifth year boys' dorm, he staggers back to his bed to escape the burdening thoughts of his Lily.

[He didn't.]

…

Carelessly stumbling across the Common Room, he contemplates what he is going to say to Lily today. He doesn't want to mess this up, he _can't _mess this up. Snivellus had been a previous obstacle hindering his chances with Lily, but now he's out of the way. But what to say? He always feels like a bumbling, tongue-tied idiot around her, and he doesn't know why.

And he feels _lost _and _empty _without her, without seeing her face for even a day. It's an indescribable, unexplainable concept that takes hold of his heart and subjects him to torturous worrying, thinking, wondering about her.

Should he ask her how she's doing in Transfiguration? How her week has been? Or maybe, should he ask her for help on the ridiculous essay issued by Slughorn yesterday?

Nah, she will probably decline his request for her assistance.

Absentmindedly muttering to himself, he unceremoniously crashes into a small yet soft and feminine body. _It is Lily_. All of his witty, overconfident (typical) remarks recorded on the fresh slate of his mind are wiped clean, and he just stands there quite daftly, staring down at her with surprise. She is the first to recover, only to have James recover a split second afterward, thank Merlin.

But before she can reprimand him, he quickly says the first thing on his mind.

"You look lovely, Evans."

And regrets it. Godric, he really must learn the art of thinking before speaking. But he couldn't help it. She is outfitted in a dark royal blue cashmere sweater that flaunts her slender body that he can't help but gawk at. Well, he is gawking in a way that is completely _flattering_ to his appearance, of course.

Don't ruin your chances like you always do.

Don't ask her to Hogsmeade.

Don't ask her to come to the Kitchens with you.

A blender of whirling thoughts is cluttering up his mind, and he's having a hard time deciphering what she's thinking, saying, feeling. Shit. He can't bleeding think when she arches her ivory neck and lifts her chin and raises her eyebrows like that. Merlin. He can't form a fucking coherent sentence with _actual words _with her doing that, with her looking like that. Looking so unbelievably _delectable_.

Lily Evans is an unattainable mystery, a compelling enigma. Why is she so bloody difficult to comprehend?

"Well, I'd thank you but I won't since it's _you_, and you're probably having a go at me as usual," she coldly replies with a bitter, razor edge to her voice.

"I'm not, honestly. You truly are, Evans. You have a rare sort of beauty that unintentionally shocks attractive lads like me into silence. I don't know how you can't see it. I don't know how you can't see that I truly care about you," he earnestly expresses with underlying tones of candour embedded in his low voice, which he tried to keep from trembling.

Her jade-coloured eyes widens ever so slightly but narrowed again, judging him, analysing him.

_Overanalysing him as usual_.

And he leaves her there to ponder what he had just conveyed to her in this rare moment of vulnerability.

.

_it's impossible_

_so breathe in so deep_

.

She's dating him.

She's dating _Amos Diggory_.

Amos Diggory, who isn't good enough for his Lily. But James isn't either.

Diggory doesn't deserve Lily any more than he does. But the thing is, he's sure that he could love Lily more than Diggory ever will. He's stopped bullying Snivellus for her. He's stopped cracking jokes in class and started paying more attention. He's stopped breaking three hundred and sixty-five school rules a day.

He's stopped everything for her.

(Though he still does pull a few _minor _pranks here and there…)

_But she still hasn't notice a single thing_.

(And he's so bloody desperate with nothing but barely tangible strands of bleak hope to grab onto.)

Merlin, and they say that _boys _are the oblivious ones when it's evidently the other way around.

"Hullo mate, are you alright?" asks Sirius with concern and worry seeping into his light, merry voice.

"Yeah, fine," he mutters unthinkingly, still irrevocably focused on the volatile subject of Lily.

Sirius narrows his eyes at James in suspicion and disbelief for a few seconds and looks away to talk to Remus about the usual arrangements to meet up during Christmas holidays. And James is still hopelessly mulling over ways to make Lily love him back.

Maybe Sirius is right. Maybe it's time to get over her. Maybe she isn't the one, the perfect girl for him. He's young, and he's got a long way to go in life. Maybe he'll meet another girl and fall in love with her instead.

Merlin, he sounds like a bloody romantic sap. Is this what love does to people?

But he couldn't picture being in love with anyone else. It's been _Lily Lily Lily _for the past five-and-a-half years. He's never given up even though she constantly rejected him, abhorred the mere sight of his faultless face. Her words cuts into him like knives, those vicious words that she uncaringly hurls at James. Seeing her porcelain face distorted with rage and hatred when he unintentionally angers her practically kills him every time. It isn't really his fault; words just tend to carelessly slip out when he's unguarded. Nothing he says is deliberate. It isn't scripted, it isn't memorised, it isn't planned. Everything he involuntarily does and says makes him want to hex himself into individual shreds of nothing and just dissolve in his disappointment.

His smirks, his grins, his lines work every time. On every girl _but_ Lily.

And he forgets that teensy fact every time he sees her. It makes him scared to love her because she holds so much power over him and she doesn't even realise it at all in her frustrating unawareness.

Occupied by his own despondent thoughts, he smiles and nods and laughs in all the right places as his mates are talking, only half listening to their ridiculous conversation. Suddenly, to his right, he sees her in all her redheaded glory. She's walking in the opposite direction, heading toward him with one of her friends—McKinnon, he thinks. As she passes by him, his breath hitches and he pauses in mid-step, mesmerized by her. A beatific, endearing smile is etched onto her beautiful face, unsuspecting of her awed audience. It's like in the Muggle films: she has an aura of blinding light around her and time has slowed down, forcing everything to proceed in slow motion. With every step she takes, the wave of dark cherry red curling about her shoulders and down her back bounces a bit, catching the sunlight filtering through the corridors at the right, most precise angle. The dark green recesses of her eyes sparkle with mirth and _joy _at her friend's words.

He vows that he will be the one to make her face light up one day.

"Oi, James! Are you paying attention? Oh never mind, you're too busy looking at Evans. You still fancy her, don't you?" calls Sirius, disgruntled by his best mate's miniscule attention span.

His mind takes a few seconds to register that Sirius is talking to him. "Er, yeah. Yeah, I do," he mumbles with a sheepish grin.

Sirius shakes his head. Honestly, Prongs seems more in love with her than he was last year. Did something happen? Did something change? But he's sure that James would notify him if something _did _occur, knowing him. James would be bouncing on the balls of his feet in uncontainable excitement, incessantly rambling on and on about her.

(Actually, he already does that…)

James rolls his eyes; Padfoot will understand someday when he discovers the terrifying magic of unadulterated love. He breaks his gaze with Sirius to return to shamelessly staring at Lily. His jaw clenches when he notices Diggory ambling toward her, and the short-lived spell is broken, shattered, dispersed like raindrops.

It's near damn impossible, but he swears that he'll never stop trying to win her love.

.

_the best thing about tonight's that we're not fighting_

_could it be that we have been this way before?_

.

Racing down the pitch on his broom, he barks out orders to his team as they rehearse a new play that he's devised over the weekend. So far, it's coming out quite nicely; they should be able to manage it by the end of this week. The Hawk Eye Manoeuvre, as he has properly named it, is fairly unlike most of the tactics they usually perform during the matches, so it should take the snakes by surprise. As he switches places with his front left chaser, Meadowes, he outstretches his arm further than usual to receive the hazardously thrown Quaffle from his front right chaser who flew a little behind Meadowes and him, forming a diagonal flying pattern as planned. He scarcely ducks in time as a Bludger rockets overhead, barely missing his head as the momentum of the chaotic ball ruffles his inky hair even more.

"Oi, watch where you're hitting that Bludger, Padfoot!" he hollers irately, scowling at the fact that his best mate could've injured his beautifully sculpted face.

James gets a sarcastic thumbs-up in return as he feints right but chucks the Quaffle toward the left hoop. He releases a groan of frustration as his Keeper manages to save his goal.

"Is my throwing arm getting worse, or is it because you know me too well?" he addresses, resolutely endeavouring to solve the issue.

"I think it's the latter, Captain. But also, you take too much time when switching your aim during your feints," she promptly answers after playing back the final moments of his attempted goal in her wearied mind.

A splay of exhaustion and grime outlines the impatience in his teammates' faces as he lectures them individually on what they need to improve on. Checking his watch, he nods at the time displayed on the handy device.

"You're released. Nice job today, mates! Especially Hansen, who blocked two of my goals. But Fenwick, make sure you work on your aim; it needs improvement," he shouts above the quiet murmur of their breathless voices, sending a quick smile of approval in the fifth year girl's direction and a pointed look towards Fenwick.

They all trudge toward the broom shed to lock their brooms up for the night and sprint for their respective locker rooms to claim the limited number of showers. He winds up entering the locker rooms last and is slightly annoyed at his inability to call dibs on the showers but gives way to a grin at his team's antics, which comprised of leaping over each other, engaging in an entanglement of flailing limbs, and hoarsely hollering over the din of clamouring voices.

When he finally steps into a shower, he lets loose a long, exaggerated sigh, letting the scalding yet soothing water wash the stress and fatigue away into a spray of droplets and steam and mist. He just stands there for seconds, minutes, hours, days; time is endless there, and he's just shutting the world out, pretending that nothing else exists but him and the faithful shower. Nothing. Not Lily. Not the Marauders. Nothing. A never-ending downpour of water beating down on his tanned neck and back and body follows a solid rhythm, and he slowly breathes in and out, revelling in the simple comfort one shower brings him.

He turns the knob, switching the water off, and he exhales noisily as beads of water drip from his jet-black hair and edge their way down his angular face. Hastily wrapping a towel around his waist, he steps out of the shower and shuffles toward one of the sinks, peering at his hazy reflection in the fogged up mirror and putting his glasses on. For once, his scruffy hair is plastered somewhat flat against his throbbing head, and he instinctively runs a hand through his hair, making it as unruly as it usually is. An errant strand of inky black flops in his face, and he puffs up his cheeks and blows it out of his face, appearing like an innocent as he does so. Godric, James Potter an innocent? That's ludicrous.

"Dorcas? You there?" a hesitant voice wonders from somewhere in the locker room.

Godric, what is she doing here?

He swivels around to see Lily Evans with a ratty book bag casually slung over her shoulder, standing stock-still with an open-mouthed expression frozen into place.

Fancy meeting you here, Evans. Would you like a quick snog?

James looks down and notices what she's staring at; he just realised that nothing's separating his scantily clad body from Evans but a towel. Why isn't she drooling over his abs yet? Most girls would kill to be alone with James Potter and his abs.

But then again, this is _Lily_. Who is in a lone category of eccentricity all by herself.

"Like what you see?" he smirks, slouching against a wall with his arms folded across his chest as his eyes shamelessly travel down her body. Have her legs always been that long?

She flushes and averts her eyes. "You're a cocky, arrogant bastard," she mumbles balefully.

"Damn right," he agrees happily with his signature cocky grin in place.

She rolls her eyes at him, and he just keeps on grinning. They aren't fighting yet, and that in itself is a good sign. An _extremely _good sign.

"So…looking for me, weren't you, Evans?" he looks on expectantly.

And she rolls her eyes at him again. "Not everything's about you, Potter. Anyways, I was looking for Dorcas. Have you seen her?" she inquires, biting her bottom lip whilst glancing around the locker room as if Meadowes will pop out from a locker any second when the room is clearly empty save for the two of them.

He holds back a chuckle. "Clearly, you haven't been down here before, Evans. This is the _men's' _locker room," he smirks before bursting into an uncontrollable fit of laughter that speaks swelling volumes of insanity.

The colouration of her heart-shaped face deepens into a darker shade of red and she smiles ruefully before she too begins giggling at the hysterical sight of him doubling over with laughter. Merlin, he's making her laugh. This is a bleeding miracle! Good Godric, dreams _do _come true after all.

Is it really pathetic that he dreams—_and daydreams_—about conversing with her and making her laugh?

He hopes it isn't. Because the word 'pathetic' isn't exactly one a person would use to describe the infamously cheeky James Potter.

"Sorry, for laughing. Couldn't help it," she gasps between breaths, "I never had an excuse to come down here before. I'm not exactly a Quidditch sort of person, y'see?" she rambles apologetically.

"S'alright, I suppose. So, why were you looking for Meadowes anyways?" he wonders, burning with curiosity and trying not to tarnish the beautiful, peaceable moment at the same time.

"Well, I needed someone to help me review Vanishing Spells, but I reckon you'll do since I have no choice. You're fairly decent," she muses while tapping her chin with her index finger.

He splutters at her mortifying words, absolutely aghast that she would make such a nugatory comment. "I most certainly am far better than just _decent_. I'm the best in our year for Transfiguration!" he opposes.

She gives way to a smile at the indignant expression on his face and his futile retorts. "I beg to differ. I most certainly am not worse than you, Potter," she contradicts.

But before he can open his mouth to counteract her unjust statement, she interjects. "Merlin, it pains me to ask _you _for help but will you…will you help me?" she inquires flatly with a hint of hesitation colouring her soft voice.

Ha. As if he'd say no. This is going much better than he expected.

"Yes, but with a price," he replies with a smile.

"Naturally," she says with faint amusement dancing upon the slight curve of her pink lips. Then her face hardens, and the smile falls from his face. Oh shit, what did he say _now_?

"I swear, Potter, if you ask me to Hogsmeade again—"

His shoulders sag in relief. James truly thought she was going to explode with unnecessary rage over something moronic he had said. "Relax, Evans. I was only going to ask you if you could call me James instead of Potter all the time," he grins with pools of hazel alight with gaiety.

She looks taken aback, and he honestly can't blame her. But Merlin, he _is _allowed to learn from his mistakes, isn't he?

Yes, the great James Potter has just, albeit reluctantly, admitted that he makes mistakes. Terrifying, isn't it?

"Agreed. I'll wait for you outside the locker room," she vocalises, indicating the apparent indecency of his appearance by the sudden reddening of her cheeks.

He smirks at her discomfort and watches the slight sway of her hips as she walks away. Finding her inadvertently seductive stride enticing yet perplexing, he pulls on a faded—_vintage_—Puddlemere United jersey and an old pair of plaid shorts because it's _Saturday night _and he doesn't give a damn about proper dress code. And he doesn't even remotely care about how mismatched and defunct his outfit is as he dons a leather jacket before heading out.

All he can think about is _Lily Lily Lily _and how she asked him to help her with Transfiguration.

(This isn't a dream, is it?)

He steps outside. The crimson-streaked sky has bled into a velvety blue studded with rhythmically blinking stars, and a wintry breeze meets his hair and tousles it beyond what can be tentatively labelled as general messiness. The unwelcome sting of the frosty air lashes at his rosy cheeks as he peers around for Lily. Ah. She is visibly attempting not to shiver but he sees it anyways because he's just uncommonly perceptible when it comes to a girl as vivid as her.

Shrugging off his jacket, he offers it to her, biting his lip in ragged amounts of hope that she won't make a scathing comment about his unusual display of manners. James exhales when she accepts it with a little nod. They trudge back to the castle in silence save for the low melodious whistle of the wind. Once they reach the corridors safely, she takes off his jacket and hands it back to him.

He shakes his head no. "Nah, you can keep it until you're absolutely positive you're not cold anymore," he gently protests, noting the slight shuddering of her slender frame.

"Guess chivalry isn't dead, after all," she mutters as a form of thanks, he reckons.

He spares her a tiny glance and a fraction of a grin as he saunters alongside her. When they reach Gryffindor tower, they step through the portrait hole into the welcoming warmth of the common room after a muttering of the simple password: gillyweed. The common room is conveniently empty with the exception of a few third years, and they are thankfully left to their devices without any distractions to spare. Settling on a loveseat, he watches her as she rummages through her book bag for her Transfiguration book. Half of her face is illuminated by the firelight cast by the flames burning in the fireplace, accentuating the deep red fringe falling in her brilliant green eyes. Her face has morphed into one of determination and concentration, and he wonders what he looks like right now.

An abrupt noise of Lily clearing her throat shakes him out of his reverie, inciting a look of sheepishness to encompass his face. She sits cross-legged across from him with her hands folded in her lap as she faces him with a questioning, expectant expression carved into her features.

"Oh, right. Er, anything you're having trouble with?" he inquires with an obvious air of uncertainty and discomfort.

Not that he's uncomfortable with spending time that she has voluntarily requested with her. It's just that he's never tutored anyone before, let alone someone as ingenious as Lily herself. The idea of it is rather daunting and intimidating in a sort of way that most likely only makes sense to James himself, as he is the victim of this peculiar situation.

"Well, I reckon I'm having a bit of trouble with the wand movement because the objects I'm trying to vanish never vanish completely," she exhales with frustration polluting her voice.

"Well, show me what you're doing, then," he suggests with a curious gleam in his eyes.

She eyes him doubtfully before retrieving her wand. Clearing her throat, she executes the spell with partial correctness in making the quill before her shimmer and it appears transparent naught but a few seconds. An impatient scowl twists her pretty features as she harrumphs at the result of her spell.

He frowns. "You're applying too many flourishes when it's much easier to do just a simple flick movement with _maybe_ a bit of a swish before the flick. What matters most is your level of confidence, and it's rather obvious that you're not expecting a proper result. Here, let me show you," he corrects, his brow furrowed as he analyses her every movement.

He whips out his wand and effortlessly vanishes the quill with ease and a simple flick of his wrist. Grinning crookedly, he turns to see a frown formed upon her lips with her head cocked to the side like a puzzled puppy.

"That's odd…Professor Hartridge uses more flourishes," she ponders with a befuddled expression.

Would she mind if he kissed the bewilderment off her lips? Probably.

Shit.

Focus.

Concentrate.

"The book says to procure a vivid image of your chosen object being vanished. It doesn't exactly specify the wand movement, so I find it much easier to use a regular flick," he explains with difficulty as he tries and fails to ignore how captivating, how enthralling she is.

"You read?" she inquires with mock surprise evident in her voice.

"Yes, in fact, I do. Find that horrifying, don't you?" he replies, the corners of his lips twitching into a little amused smirk.

She nods with mock solemnity. "Yes."

He harrumphs and replies sulkily. "Oh, _go on_. Try it without the flourishes."

Closing her eyes, she takes a deep breath before making a few attempts at the uncomplicated method he has demonstrated. On the third try, she manages it with a blinding beam that screams victory as she breathes, "Merlin, yes. Finally."

A genuine smile touches his lips as he dips his head in acknowledgment of her success. "I do believe you owe me a proper thank you now, Evans," he prompts in a teasing manner.

"Lily. You ought to call me Lily," she requests.

"_Lily_," he agrees.

"Potter. I mean—James," she wavers.

He shoots her a pointed look, arching his eyebrow in expectance of her thank you.

She suppresses a smile at his impatience. "Well, _thank you_, P—James. You're not a bad teacher," she utters hesitatingly.

He fights off a self-satisfied smirk at her reluctance to admit his magnificence. "And you're not a bad student," he returns with a small grin caressing the curve of his lips.

Why are they smiling so much? Not that it's a bad thing.

It's just…different. In a good way, of course.

And it has taken his muddled mind this long to process the fact that Lily Evans has just complimented him out of her own free will.

Oh yes, it's definitely the start of something.

Something good.

.

_because a girl like you is impossible to find_

_you're impossible to find_

.

* * *

**A/N: So, how was it? **

**A special thank you to Jane (tony-starks) and Roma (just a little loony) for looking this over and editing a bit. **

**Also, this is going to be a two-shot. So, I was wondering whose POV should I write from for the next chapter: James or Lily? Leave a review and tell me.**

**Please don't favourite without reviewing! =)**

**-nic.**


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